Spark Burn Fade
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: Where his touch had ignited the fire that first night, his eyes kept it smoldering, slow and steady, day after day, just waiting for the right moment to burst into flames again. Mark/Lexie, season 5 and beyond.


Real-Life Note: Anyone else seeing _The Hunger Games _this weekend? I'm seeing it tomorrow at midnight (26 hours from now!), and if you can't tell, I can hardly wait! I wrote this to distract myself from the anticipation, and also because I don't feel like studying for my English vocab test tomorrow.

Inspiration: This one comes from the title of an album by Correatown of the same name… I don't know anything about that singer/band (for once). I only have the one song, actually, which I got from an old ep of _Grey's_. The song wasn't the inspiration…just the title of the album. Don't ask why because I really don't know. But that's the inspiration, if you were curious.

Author's Note: This story is just some random (and fluffy) 5th-season-and-into-the-future Mark and Lexie. As always, this thing started really small and then grew. Please ignore the existence of Sloane, Jackson, Julia, and Sofia—(none of them are real in my head, anyway)—which, I suppose, makes this an AU-post season 5. :) This is written in Lexie's POV, starting with what immediately follows the "Teach me" scene. (God, I really miss the 5th season. It was so perfect.)

I hope you enjoy :)

.

_**Spark**_

_._

One touch. That was all it took. His lips touched yours for what couldn't have been more than a half-second, but already, your hands are all over each other. They're desperate and wanting, clawing to get closer and closer. He buries his hands in your hair, and yours grapple onto the back of his neck, both of them shooting for that one universal goal: to be as close as possible.

You shiver when his hands trail down your back, instinctively pressing yourself closer to him—his warmth, his scent, _him_. He smiles when the kiss breaks a moment later, and you can't help but smile back. You wrap your hands around yourself, self-conscious now, and rub the sides of your upper arms for warmth.

"I guess I should have put a bit more thought into it before stripping naked in the middle of January," you say by way of breaking the silence. You glance up at him, expecting him to smile at your obvious awkwardness, or at least make a degrading comment about your lack of experience… But when your eyes meet his, you feel heat shoot through your abdomen. There's no suggestion in his eyes, no characteristic smirk on his face… There's nothing but the _wanting_.

It roots you to the spot.

He takes a step closer, holding your gaze all the while. He stops moving when you take a large breath. The lacey fabric covering the cups of your bra just barely brushes against his gray t-shirt, but from the way you see his muscles clench, you know he felt it.

"Maybe I can warm you up," he whispers huskily.

He doesn't waste any time.

One hand cups your waist, lightly holding you in place, while the other rises slowly. You stare at it, tracking its movements with your eyes, as it comes up to cup your cheek. You look down, praying you won't lose your nerve. Not now. Not after you've come so far. Not after its clear that he wants this too. Despite what he said, he wants you. Despite what anyone would say, he wants you. And you want him.

And that's makes you look back up. He was about to force you to look in his eyes—you could tell from the way his fingers were inching under your chin—but you take silent pride in the fact that you beat him to it. You didn't completely shy away. When you meet his eyes again, you're taken aback by how… almost… gentle they are. He stares at you for a long minute, and in that time, you realize that his eyes are mimicking his touch.

Despite the fact that your first kiss had been more of a passionate crush of his mouth onto yours than an actual _kiss_, you realize that he's never once been rough with you. And now, his fingers are… caressing you, in a way. Soothing you, almost. …As if he's worried he'll scare you off.

"Are you sure about this?"

You snap back to the present at the sound of his voice—low, forced to stay level, husky, and somehow still mysterious—and you find that his eyes are still locked with yours. You nod immediately, not quite sure you can speak. He doesn't blink, and you watch as he purses his lips ever so slightly. He doesn't say a word, and after a few seconds of silence, you realize why: he's waiting for you. He needs more than a nod, more than a shaky 'yes.' He told you all the reasons this can't happen, the differences between him and you, the ever-present threat of others knowing, of Meredith and Derek knowing, how wrong it all is… He needs you to say yes, but more than that, he needs you to mean it. And a nod just won't do.

You take a quick breath, staring at him hard for a few seconds before stepping back. His eyes go immediately wide, and his hands fall from your face and waist. He's coming to his own conclusions already, so you know you have to work fast so he doesn't have time to retreat again. Before he can speak, you bend down, unbuttoning your jeans. You swear you can hear his breath catch when he realizes what you're doing. But you ignore him, pulling them off, and tossing them behind you. When you look back up, you can tell you've pushed him even further off the brink. If he wanted to refuse you now, you're sure he wouldn't be able to.

He moves forward, his arms lifting to wrap around you again, but you put one hand on his chest to stop him. Before he has a chance to register your rejection, your hands are behind your back, unhooking your bra. You remove it quickly, fitting the cups together before bending down to take off your underwear. You straighten up a moment later, placing your underwear inside the shallow bowl of your matching bra.

"Am I sure?" You repeat, reaching down to grab his hand. You lift it, placing his palm open and flat between you. You put the small gifts in his hand, somehow unabashed at your nudity now. You stare back at his wide eyes, keeping yours cool and collected. Your voice is steady when you speak, and you take pride in that fact more than anything else. "What do you think?"

A second later, he's tossed the undergarments over his shoulder, reached out, and pulled you against him. He's a bit more forceful now, and you can't help but moan into the hard kiss he's pressing against your mouth. He releases you, reaching down to tear off his own shirt. He's only standing half-naked in front of you, but you can already feel the potent desire shooting through your body, flowing through your veins, and pooling at your core.

He's sparked the fire, and you've worked it up, and now there's nothing either of you can do to put it out.

_Maybe, _you think with growing excitement as he pulls you tight against his hard body and backs you both towards the bed, _there are some fun ways to quench it._

_._

_**Burn**_

.

In the beginning that followed, things started out simple. It was just a dull ache you felt whenever she saw him; that was it. Sure, it flared whenever his eyes happened to meet yours or whenever you could feel him staring at you when he thought you wouldn't notice. Where his touch had ignited the fire that first night, his eyes kept it smoldering, slow and steady, day after day, just waiting for the right moment to burst into flames again. But it didn't. The moment never came. Things didn't go further than that, things didn't progress, and at first, you were able to understand that and keep things _simple_.

As the days passed, though, things started getting more complicated. He seemed to be slipping further and further away—avoiding you, probably, seeing as he'd said it _can't happen again. _You accepted this. You came to terms with it. You were fine with it. Until you weren't.

Until you started keeping out an extra eye, just searching for him around the hospital. Until you started aching for him when he wasn't even around. Until all someone would have to do was _utter_ the term 'Plastics,' and your stomach would erupt in heated butterflies. To your great and thankfully private humiliation, you started lusting after him with a fervor that could rival, well, _him_.

And if it were anyone else, you would consider acting on it. You seduced him once, you could do it again. But it was _him_, and that was the problem.

It was him: Dr. Sloan, Mark, your attending, your teacher, your coworker, your… lover? _NO._ You almost shake at the idea; it's that repulsive. It's that ludicrous. _No, no, no, no, NO! _The concept is so foreign that your mind immediately rejects it, searching for a more viable option. But there are none. All that's left is _one-night stand._

You sigh to yourself, closing your eyes as you lean against the sink in Meredith's kitchen. It's one in the morning, and you can't sleep. Your mind's been wrestling with this problem for days and it still hasn't found a solution. _That's what happens when you have no friends, _you tell yourself bitterly. _No one you could talk to about this. About him. _You open your eyes, staring out at the dark night as you puzzle over a newer question that just surfaced. _What would you say? _If you had someone to talk to, that is, how could you even begin to explain all this? Who, besides a shrink, would listen to your tale of lust and lack of self-control and virtual obsession without deeming you 'crazy'?

Come to think of it, even a shrink would prescribe you some anti-psychotics. And counsel you to cool it with the random sex. And tell you to nix the attachments to unavailable men. Scratch that all, you need a life coach at this point.

You groan, pressing your body against the large sink just for something to do.

"Mark Sloan," you mutter under your breath. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was hoping I might find you here, actually…"

You jump out of your skin at the voice, immediately whirling towards the door. But your rapid heartbeat isn't due only to the surprise. Neither are the goosebumps erupting over your bare legs and arms. Nor is that familiar desire you feel rocket through your body at the sight of him.

_Him. Here. In Meredith's kitchen. Her home. _My_ home._

_ What the hell?_

"What—What—" You break off, attempting to swallow as he stares at you through the screen door in the back of the kitchen. He smirks slightly at your difficulty to verbalize your thoughts.

"May I come inside?" He wonders smoothly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

You nod dumbly, unable to take your eyes off him as he softly pushes the door open, catching it before it slams back against its hinges and wakes up the entire house. To your surprise, he doesn't make a move. He gives you space, standing by the door and keeping still and silent. After a couple minutes, you regain enough of your mental capacity for coherent speech and thought.

"What are you doing here?" You whisper. You voice sounds like a scream in the silent house.

"I was looking for you," he reminds you.

"Why—" You break off, shaking your head and deeming the question unsuitable. You frown a second later, noticing the door he came through. "Why did you come in the back?" You ask instead, staring at him in confusion.

He grimaces slightly at the inquiry, shifting his eyes from yours. "I… I was hoping to get you alone—"

"So you decided to pay me a secret visit in the middle of my sister's kitchen in the dead of night?" You wonder aloud.

He stares at you for a long moment, probably expecting that you'll demand he leave. You almost laugh at the thought. _Oh, if only he knew… _You force yourself to stay composed. There is no reason he needs to know what you've been thinking.

"You were the one saying my name," he replies, trying to shift focus. It works. _Shit, _you think automatically. _Why am I so _**stupid**? A smirk spreads on his face, and you know he's caught on to you. "Have you been thinking about me late at night, Dr. Grey?"

He's mocking you, you know this, but still… You can't help but smile. "What do you think, Dr. Sloan?" You reply, feeling your smile widen when he smirks back. You cross your arms a second later, but you can't keep the strange happiness off your face. "So what are you doing here?" You ask again.

He laughs quietly, stepping into the kitchen. Your eyes follow him as he takes a seat the counter. You half-wish he had moved to stand in front of you instead. Then, you might be able to touch him. Then, you might be able to kiss him. You might even—_Quit it, Lexie, _you order yourself silently._ Stop being such a freak._

"I wanted to see you."

You try to force your heart rate to remain steady. "You've seen me." It doesn't work.

He tilts his head to the side, silently telling you not to jerk him around.

"I…" You falter, not knowing what to say. "I don't really know what you mean by that."

He smiles to himself, looking down at the counter before eyeing you. "Well, that makes two of us."

"I thought you didn't want it to happen again."

"I said it _can't _happen again," he corrects. His eyes pierce through you, leaving your soul bare and exposed as his eyes bore into yours. You hope he can't read your desperate thoughts. "I said nothing about what I want."

You force yourself to take a breath. "And what…" You swallow roughly. "What do you want?"

He doesn't blink. "I think we both know what I want," he replies softly. He stares at you for a quiet moment before reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. The movement almost makes you jump—though it was nothing near sudden, the every-day quality of the gesture makes something inside you clench. "The question is," he murmurs softly a second later, dropping his hand back to the counter, "what do you want?"

Your breath catches at his words, and you find you're still holding that breath when his eyes turn up to meet yours half a minute later.

"Little Grey?" He prompts. "Do you want this or don't you?"

"I…" Your lips go dry, and your tongue darts out to moisten them while simultaneously stalling for time. "I don't exactly know what 'this' is," you finally settle on.

"Me," he replies, holding your brown eyes with his serious blue ones. "Us," he adds after a moment.

"Us…" You repeat slowly.

He nods again.

"What about Derek?" You ask, stalling again.

He sighs quietly, closing his eyes. "I don't know," he mutters tiredly. "I don't know what to do about Derek." You bite your lip, oddly feeling the need to walk over and…hug him or something. Comfort him in some way. _He's a grown man, _you remind yourself. _He can comfort himself if need be._

"Telling him is out of the question?"

His eyes find yours, they roll up to the ceiling a second later. "Right," he mutters. "Sure, if I wanted a fist to the face."

"I'm just checking," you defend yourself.

He smiles at you, and you unconsciously take a step towards him at the gesture. Only the wide counter is separating you two now. You wish it would disappear or disintegrate. You wish it would grow and widen. You can't make up your mind on anything tonight, it seems.

"So?" He prompts after a moment, as if sensing your last thought. "What do you think?"

"Where do we stand?" You wonder cautiously.

"Well, if you need a refresher course, we slept together once—"

"Not that!"

"It was quite enjoyable," he grins.

You barely acknowledge the light praise. "I meant…" You press your body tightly against the counter, letting its hard edge dig into your ribs. You reach across the wooden surface, resting your hand on his. His fingers twitch at the contact. Neither of you makes a move to hold the other, but you stay tethered together through your gazes. "Where do we stand, you and I? If we do this…" You drum your fingers against his palm. "What are we?"

"We…" He starts confidently but quickly trails off. He seems to be just as much at a loss about all this as you are. "We…"

You give him a small smile, thinking of things to prompt him with. "We'll keep it quiet," you say, waiting for his approval. He nods. "We won't tell anyone, but if we're going to be an 'us—'" You can't help but smile at the word "—I would hope we'd be exclusive." He pauses for a half-second before nodding again. He looks down at your hand, resting atop his. Very slowly, he turns his and carefully entwines his fingers with yours. He stares down at your joined hands while he speaks.

"What about the place?" He asks softly.

"What place?" You whisper, still taken aback by his intimate action.

"Where should we meet up?" He asks. "The hotel or here?"

Your breath leaves you in a quiet rush. _Oh. _Your eyes fall closed, and you almost smile for being so stupid. _Of course, _you think, realizing how foolish you had been just a second ago. _Of course that's what this is._ He's staring over at you expectantly when you open your eyes. You force a smile, trying to appear normal. "I don't know," you reply with a weak shrug. "Either one."

He nods, still playing with your entwined fingers. Faintly disgusted at the sight, you look away. His fake affection has already lost its appeal.

He stands a moment later, still holding your hand, and walks to the other side of the counter. You force yourself to look at him, trying to forget that you'd wished he'd face you like this just moments ago. But there must be some kind of pain or conflict written on your face, because he's frowning down at you when he comes to a stop just inches from you. "You alright?" He asks quietly.

You nod, looking down.

His free hand moves beneath your chin; his fingertips lift it. He stares you in the eyes for a silent moment before leaning forward and kissing you. You close your eyes, but you can barely enjoy the gentle, soft feel of his lips on yours. You can barely enjoy the way he automatically steps closer to you, as if he might've wanted you for you.

But he's only here for what your body can give him, and that ruins the illusion.

You should have seen that coming in the first place, anyway. Hadn't you used him for his body in the first place? No reason to fault him for doing the same.

"So seven?" He murmurs quietly after pulling away.

You stare at him, confused. "Seven?" You repeat half-heartedly, wondering if he's requesting an early-morning rendezvous.

He smiles kindly at your perplexity, bending forward to brush your lips with his softly. You almost reach out to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, but remembering the reason for his visit in the first place stops you. _He doesn't want you_, you remind yourself.

"I can't pick you up, of course," he continues, "but wear something nice to work and I can drive us from there. You get off at six-thirty, right?"

You stare at him, opening your mouth to speak. You close it when you realize you don't have any idea what to say. Or what was just said. You repeat this action again, sure that your face resembles a dying fish gasping for air, but unable to stop yourself. _What is he talking about?_

His kind smile widens to a knowing smirk. "Playing dumb, I see?"

"I…"

"Do you like Italian?"

_Do I like what? _"I…"

He shakes his head, laughing quietly. "I get the whole innocence thing," he chuckles, "but really? Can't we just be straight with each other now?"

"I… am being straight with you," you manage shakily, still confused. "You're the one that's not making any sense," you shoot back.

He stares at you as if you're crazy. "I'm asking you out," he states flatly. "What's so confusing about that?"

It's your turn to stare at him as if he's crazy. "You… want to go out on a date with me?"

"Well…" His eyebrows draw together in confusion. "Yeah. That's what this whole thing was about, wasn't it?"

"I… I thought you wanted to sleep with me," you reply dumbly.

He laughs. "Well, yeah, I want that too, of course…" He shrugs. "What's the harm in eating first?"

You frown at him, still not comprehending. "But why bother with the charade?" You wonder aloud. "If no one except you and I know, what's the point of pretending we're dating?"

He gaze tightens, zeroing in on you with almost frightening intensity. "Who said we were pretending?"

"Well, no one said it," you reply, "but it was rather heavily implied."

"Lexie," he begins slowly. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you wanting to know which place I wanted us to screw!" Your voice rises to a near shout before you can help yourself, and you really _can't_ help yourself—why did he have to act like this all meant something and then go make it all about sex? Why bother in the first place? _A half-hour ago I would have been fine with just sex, _you think sadly. _Why can't we just go back to that?_

He's still acting slow to catch up. You huff impatiently, but he ignores you. "When did I say I wanted to know where we're going to screw?" He asks.

You groan, forcing yourself to stay quiet and not to wake the many bodies sleeping upstairs. "You wanted to know where we'd meet up, the hotel or here—"

"You thought this was just about sex," he interrupts, his eyes wide as if pretending to have a revelation.

"_Yes,_" you hiss impatiently. "Because you made it very clear that that's all you wanted!"

He's laughing at you before you even close your mouth. You feel like slugging him, but you know that would only make matters worse. "What," you growl through clenched teeth. "Is. So. Funny?"

He grins at you while his laughter dies down, and as you two stare at each other in silence, he speaks. "Little Grey," he says, unable to hold back a smile—no doubt still laughing his head off at your gullibility—"I was not asking you to be my whore—"

"Watch your mouth," you cut in angrily.

He smiles, laughing through the gesture, and now you don't really feel like holding back anymore from hitting him. You wait for the next insult, tensing your arm in anticipation and hiding a smile in near-satisfaction. "This is not all about sex for me," he begins. "This is barely about sex for me, actually." You roll your eyes, shaking your head at what he no doubt thought was an easy ploy. "Lex, the only reason I asked if you wanted us to go to the hotel or be here is because I wanted to know where you were more comfortable. If it should come to that," he adds. He voice is so serious, you can't help but pause in your plans to break his pretty face.

"If it should come to that?" You repeat quietly.

He nods, his blue eyes trained on yours. "I realize we've slept together before, of course, but that isn't all I wanted this to be. But if we do move on to that, I don't want to take you to the hotel if you don't like it there. But I also don't want to be sneaking around here if it makes you nervous." His eyes flicker to the ceiling, and you know he's thinking of Derek. "Certainly makes me nervous," he mutters under his breath. "But anyway," he continues a second later, "I came here because I wanted to talk to you." He looks you in the eye. "_Not_ because I wanted to take you to bed without another word…" He grimaces. "I guess I have to rehabilitate my reputation some more."

"So you're…" Suddenly it dawns on you. "Serious?" You finish, barely comprehending the idea.

But he's smiling at you a second later. "Yeah, I'm serious." His forehead puckers. "Weren't you?"

And you're smiling back before you can help yourself. "No, no, of course I was. I just—" You break off, shaking your head. You look down, trying to hide your idiot grin. But again, his fingertips lift your chin, returning your eyes to his.

"You what?" He asks softly.

"I thought it was too good to be true," you admit softly. He smiles gently at you, holding your gaze as he steps forward. When his lips meet yours, you take his actions at face value this time. His lips slide over yours slowly, their contours smooth and probing and only half-familiar against yours. You're just reaching for him, just moving closer, when he pulls back. He backs away a few feet, and without another word, he makes his way to the door.

"Wait," you call, following after him as he steps out on the porch.

He turns just as you're letting the screen door fall shut softly behind you. "Yeah?" He asks.

"Where are you going?"

He gives you a small smile. "I'm going back to The Archfield, Little Grey."

"You…" Your lips flicker almost hopefully. "You aren't staying the night?" You inquire softly.

He smiles, chuckling quietly. "Now look who's making this all about sex."

You feel a light blush heat up your cheeks, but you force yourself to meet his eyes. "I just thought…"

He smiles, taking a couple steps down the back porch before standing still. "Wear a pretty dress tomorrow," he instructs. His eyes roam over your face. "So do you like Italian?"

"I love Italian."

His smile brightens for a split-second. "Good," he replies. He stares at you for one quick second before turning and walking down the rest of the steps. He walks across the lawn, heading to the driveway without looking like he's going to stop anytime soon. You make your way to the far side of the porch, quietly calling out to him.

"Did you walk here?" You can't help but ask, shocked at the lengths he'd go to. _For you_, you tack on silently a second later, even more shocked.

He looks over his shoulder, surprised to hear your voice. "No, I drove." He grins. "Parked down the street, though."

You feel a smile curving up your lips in return. "Keeping it quiet, huh?"

He eyes you as if to say, _That's the idea. _"Night, Little Grey," he calls a moment later.

He turns to go, and you watch him disappear down the driveway and out into the street. You stand on the porch for a few more minutes, just staring at the space he used to occupy. Even though it's chilly outside, you feel the hot burn of his presence—and lack thereof—more acutely that night than ever before. When your bare feel start to go numb, you walk back inside and head up the staircase. The attic stairs creak as you ascend them, but you can't bring yourself to care if the noise wakes anyone up. As you settle reluctantly into bed a minute later, you find you're smiling to yourself, imagining what it would be like to actually worry over every creak and groan of the old house, imagine what it would be like to sneak him into your bed to spend the night.

.

_**Fade**_

.

That was all a long time ago, now. Years, decades, have passed since that first night, since that first touch… But the feel of it still lingers under the surface, the look of it still hides in his gaze.

Every once in a while, you'll catch his eye and spot it. It'll just be for a second—his clear blue eyes will lock with yours, and all at once you'll know what he's thinking and he'll know you're thinking of the same thing. You'll feel a smile curve up your lips at the old memories, and from the way he's half-hiding a smirk, you're sure he's reviewing the same old scenes in his head.

And you'll laugh quietly, walk over to his side, and whisper in his ear, "Teach me."

He'll smile, laughing along, and press a kiss to your faded and gray hair. You'll lose yourself in memories as you lean against him, but the past doesn't hold you for long. Screeching grandchildren running through the house, followed quickly by your own kids, apologizing profusely for the mess and the noise, pull you back to the present.

But he waves them away, draws an arm around your waist, and for a moment, you both stand back and watch the chaos with amused smiles turning up your lips. You're listening to your two sons and only daughter argue over who gets which guest room when his voice draws your attention.

"Did you ever think we'd have this?"

"What?" You ask, glancing over to him as he gets to his feet beside you. You have to quickly shuffle your feet so as not to lose your footing when two of your son's kids careen past your legs. "Did I think we'd ever have a zoo?" You ask in amusement. He opens his mouth to reply, but your son's voice interrupts as he flies by.

"Sorry, Mom," he calls apologetically, chasing after his boys while his brother and sister battle it out for their respective holiday bedroom. "I'll get them calmed down in a second."

Your head swivels after your son, trying to follow his movements with your eyes, but he disappears in the next room before you can get a lock on him.

Mark chuckles shortly, and the sound brings you back to your conversation from a moment ago. You smile, catching his eye. "Because you have to admit, this is a zoo."

"No…" He replies slowly, drawing out the word in happiness. You can feel his grip firm up on your hip, pulling you close as he tilts his head towards yours. "Did you ever think we'd have a family like this?"

You smile, leaning more of your body against his. "Yes, sometime after our seventh grandchild arrived, I believe," you reply cheekily. You look over, a smile spreading over your face when he rolls his eyes, exasperated at your dodgy answers. "Of course I didn't think we'd have this," you reply with a laugh a moment later. His eyes find yours, weathered and curious. "Come on," you grin. You lower your voice, "We had a one-night stand," you whisper in his ear. "I didn't exactly factor in marriage and kids and grandkids."

He smirks at your teasing. "I did."

You can't help but laugh at his blatant lie. "_Right_."

"It's true," he replies earnestly. He grins when you roll your eyes. "Wanna know what I thought when I first saw you?"

You stare at him for a moment, finally nodding in indulgence. A small smile plays on your lips, just waiting to hear what he has to say.

"'I'm going to spend the rest of my life with her.'"

Giggles fall from your lips before you can help yourself, and your shoulders hunch and the ridiculous picture he paints. For a second, you feel twenty-four again, and from the way he's been acting, you're sure he's transported himself back to those first few weeks, too. _It's my fault for bringing 'Teach me' back, _you tell yourself as you shake your head with a happy grin. "Actually, I think what you thought was, 'I'm going to _screw_ her.'"

He sighs tiredly. His whole body moves with the gesture, as if it were exhausting. "Must you be so crass, my love?"

"Well, I had no choice once you started getting all sappy on me, my _dear,_" you stress, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

"Can't help it," he grins. "Holidays make me nostalgic."

You smile, looking down to the floor. A second later, you turn your head, not at all surprised to find him staring right at you. "They make me nostalgic too." You look into his eyes, feeling your heart warm at the love on his face. You're trying to find something to say when he leans forward and kisses you.

You smile automatically at the gesture, reflexively standing on your toes to elevate yourself to his height. His lips slide against yours, and just for a few seconds before he pulls back, you can feel the remnants of that old fire in the kiss. You press yourself nearer to him, desperate for that feeling, and when he breaks away, you could swear your face was flushed. You lift a hand to your lips, touching them gingerly as if worried they might fall off.

"What?" He smiles, watching you. "What is it?"

"It's nothing." You drop your hand, glancing over your shoulder. All your children and grandchildren have been too preoccupied with each other to notice you—which means you both have one more moment alone. "I was just remembering that first night," you reply softly, turning back to him. "Between you and me."

He eyes you lovingly, reaching up to tuck your gray hair behind your ear. "And what were you remembering?"

You smile, pressing your face against his hand before he can let it drop. His palm curves to cradle your cheek, his fingers stroking your wrinkled skin. "Just what it felt like," you murmur quietly.

His eyebrows rise questioningly. "And what did it feel like?" He asks. He may be mocking you, or suggesting something, but you ignore whatever his intention might be.

"Like love," you answer simply.

He laughs aloud, and you can't help but smile at the sound. "'_Love?_'" He repeats with mocking disbelief. "You accuse _me_ of acting sappy, and then you come over here are tell me that first night was about _love_? Hah!"

"You'd argue it was purely physical, wouldn't you?" You grin.

"Yes," he replies with a smile, "because it was."

"Right." You nod sagely. A moment later, you cast a glance around the house, spotting all the other members of your family. "So where did the three children and seven grandchildren all come from?"

He smirks, leaning forward. "Defective condoms," he whispers so only you can hear.

You take a step forward, grinning up at him. "You're the one who wanted a baby in the first place," you remind him.

"And you're the one who wanted the other two," he replies, happily allowing you to invade his personal space. "You know," he murmurs a second later, wrapping his other arm around your back. "It's not too late to start trying for that fourth."

Your head tilts back in laughter just at the idea. When you meet his eyes again, he's eyeing you lovingly. "You should've talked to me thirty years ago," you chuckle.

He smiles back, and the gesture is so natural—so _real _and _genuine_—that you can barely remember a time without it. You take another step forward, pressing your head against his chest. Automatically, you feel his arms wrap around your back. His fingers interlock together just above the hem of your shirt. He presses a kiss to your hair, and you look up, meeting his clear blue eyes.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," you whisper in a hush.

A smile spreads over his face, and he leans away for a moment so he can bend down and touch his lips to your with ease. "Good," he murmurs into the kiss.

"Good?" You question when he pulls back.

He nods. "I don't know what I'd do without you, either. So we're even."

You smile, catching his drift. Slowly, you disengage yourselves and lean back against the counter. Side-by-side, you survey your family before you, all the shouting children and lightly bickering adults. You smile to yourself when you feel him reach out for your hand. You squeeze his, speaking softly. "We did well, you and I." You look over a moment later, searching for a reply.

He indulges you with a gracious nod of his head. "Yes, we did," he smiles, gripping your hand tighter and pulling you close again. You go along, not bothering to resist, even in front of all your guests. He steps behind you, positioning your body in front of his as he wraps his arms around your middle and hugs you from behind. "We did very well," he murmurs into your ear, resting his head on your shoulder.

"All things considered," you add seriously, turning your head to catch his eye.

His arms tighten around you, enclosing you in a brief but more than welcome hug. "All things considered," he agrees with a happy chuckle.

. . .

_Author's Note: So I'm developing a real thing for aged-and-married Mark and Lexie. I just think they'd be so sweet to each other in their elder years, after all the shit they've been through, and imaging them still together at the end of all this just makes me happy._

_PS: I'm unsure as to if I'm continuing this, or where it would go if I did. But if you would like to see more, sound off below. I may continue it if inspiration strikes me. :)_

_**Please leave me a review on the story by hitting the button below!**_


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